Juliet McKenna - Western Shore

Any on-going series is shaped by new ideas and unforeseen events. I am grateful to Steve, and to Mike and Sue, for supplying essential feedback, most especially on the vexed question of the final rewrite. For sharing their very personal perspectives on the arrivals of Scotty, and of Jaimee, my thanks to Matt and Trisha, and to Iain and Nici, and also to Liz B for midwifery lore. I'm also indebted to Declan for technical details on eye-trauma.

The generous support of many people helps ensure home life keeps ticking over when professional calls on my time come thick and fast. Gill and Mike are pals above and beyond the call of duty. Ernie and Betty continue to provide essential assistance for which I am most grateful. The usual circle of friends helps me keep a sense of humour and a sense of proportion; most notably, Liz, Helen, Corinne and Penny.

On the business side, my gratitude as always to Tim, Gabby, Jess and the Orbit team. I'm indebted to Lisa for both her professional skills and her friendship and my affectionate thanks go to my agent Maggie, and to Camilla and Jill.

Writers in other genres often tell me they're envious of the well-established SF&F convention circuit and fan networks. They should be; fan enthusiasm is a constant source of inspiration and motivation and here I'm particularly grateful to Michele, Matt and Toby. I would also like to thank those hard-working convention committees

here and abroad who've given me so many enjoyable opportunities to meet other authors, artists and keen readers of all manner of writing. Never doubt that you and your efforts are appreciated.

What a beautiful day. The rains are long past, all malaises driven out by the heat of the sun, yet the dry season is still far from punishing us.

Seated on a wide, low-backed bench, Kheda looked around the immaculately tended garden in the hollow square at the heart of the luxurious dwelling. In the centre, grey and scarlet shadow finches sang merrily in their spacious aviary. The turquoise-painted wood echoed the roof tiles adorning the white-walled buildings. Above, the sky was the soft blue-grey of a courier dove's wing and the garden still husbanded the early-morning cool. When the heat of the day came, spinefruit trees would cast their generous shade. Vizail, jessamine and basket-flower shrubs flourished in the moist, fragrant air, nourished by rich earth, black in contrast with the paths of pale sand. Though none of the bushes were flowering as yet.

They 're saving their strength for the trials of the hotter weather. Their glorious blooms will be harbingers of the rains to come when the first clouds blur the horizon. Then they'll blossom and this garden will be full of sunbirds and butterflies. Then seeds and fruit will fall to the moist earth to wait out deluge and mildew before sprouting to drink in the sunlight.

'Are you sure it's not too early?' Beside him, Itrac shifted and tossed a silken cushion petulantly onto the raked sand. 'It should be a year less a hundred days—' She broke off, catching her breath.

Kheda laid a gentle hand on the light cotton gown swathing his wife's swollen abdomen and waited for the contraction to pass. Eyes closed, her face twisted with pain as she groaned and rocked back and forth. Kheda allowed himself a grimace as she gripped his hand.

At least I remembered to take my rings off. And Itrac's hands are barely swollen.

He looked at her slender fingers crushing his fingers atop her gravid belly, hard as rock as the contraction racked her. With blood from northern and western domains in her lineage, her skin was more golden than bronze. Her knuckles showed white. Itrac drew a shuddering breath and opened her eyes, sweat beading her forehead.

'Twins always come early,' Kheda said gently.

'You really think it is twins?' Itrac brushed a stray wisp of hair from her forehead with a shaking hand. The thick plait of her waist-length black tresses was tousled and uneven after the long night of her steadily progressing labour. Stripped of the intricate cosmetics expected of a warlord's wife, she looked very young.

As young as my eldest daughter, very nearly. Born half my life ago. When life had none of the complications that have so beset us both and forced us together like this.

'Your womb grew by more than two fingers for every turn of the stars.' Kheda resisted the temptation to press harder as her belly softened with the passing of the contraction, to try to feel which way the babes were lying. 'I'm sure I could feel more than one head.'

Was I right? Is one of them safely head-down? What do we do if they are both head-up? I can't feel any movement. But there's rarely any kicking this far into a birthing.

He resolutely thrust away half-formed fears and used a scrap of muslin to mop Itrac's forehead. 'You're already as big as any woman bringing a babe through ten full turns of the stars.'

As big as any of my former wives when the birthing came upon them.

'But it's taking so long,' Itrac wailed. A weary tear escaped one hazel eye to glisten on her cheek. 'If I die, you must bury me here.' Her voice trembled. 'In this garden, so your next wife will be able to bless the domain with children—'

'The first birth always takes the longest. Many women labour much longer—' Kheda swiftly changed tack at Itrac's mordant look. 'There is no reason to fear any danger to you or the babies.' He wiped away the tear and cradled her face in his sword-callused hand. 'Look at me.'

Itrac obeyed, her face shadowed with fear.

'Every turn of the stars has seen you in good health,' Kheda continued, reassuring. 'You've eaten well and rested as you needed to. I've done this before, many times—'

'No you haven't!' Itrac's face contorted at the onset of another contraction. 'You may have watched. I watched—' She bit her lip, unable to continue.

True enough; I have only watched, like any man. But I was there to receive my children wet with their birth blood as they slid from Janne, from Rekha. Such is the most intimate expression of a warlord's duty to care for every man, woman and child of his domain. But my former wives and children are lost to me, along with my former domain. Now all I can do is see Itrac safely delivered of these innocent babies that I have begotten on her with undoubted affection but no real love.

The dull ache of loss gnawed beneath Kheda's breastbone as the contraction passed and Itrac's ragged moans gave way to weeping. 'I'm so tired,' she sobbed. 'I wish Olkai was here, and Sekni.'

'It won't be much longer,' Kheda soothed as he put an

arm around her shoulders. 'Jevin!' He snapped his fingers and the youth who'd been waiting motionless beneath a flame tree hurried forward, bearded face anxious. Like Kheda, he wore an unadorned tunic and trousers of unbleached cotton. This wasn't a day for the finery expected of a noble lady's body slave. Unlike Kheda, he had the straight black hair and compact physique of these southernmost domains.

'Yes, my lord.'

'A drink for your mistress.' Seeing the uncertainty in Jevin's eyes, Kheda frowned at the young man.

Do you remember I told you you 're to show no fear? No one must voice doubt as to a wholly favourable outcome.

The youthful slave immediately forced a cheerful smile as he proffered the brass ewer and goblet he had been clutching. 'My lady?'

'It's izam juice.' Kheda helped her take the goblet. 'Your favourite. Do you want another of the rosehip sweetmeats?'

'I don't think I'll ever want to eat rosehips again.' Itrac managed a watery smile before sipping obediently.

'Not too much.' Kheda's hand hovered, ready to ensure she didn't drink too deeply.